


Pretty Things

by trickybonmot



Series: Omegaverse Serial Secondary Sex Change AU [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Anal Sex, Anniversary, Bottom John, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Just the Tip, Kink, Large Cock, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Omega Verse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Sleeve toy/Fleshlight, Taboo, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickybonmot/pseuds/trickybonmot
Summary: In which Sherlock and John try something new.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This universe is its own peculiar beast, so it is recommended to start with the first fic in the series!
> 
> Potential triggers: although everything that happens in this fic is explicitly consensual, there is some dirty talk/roleplay that could suggest otherwise.

Sherlock was not the gift-wrapping kind.

Perhaps it was because he could nearly always deduce the contents of a gift before he opened it. Perhaps it was because he dismissed nearly all occasion-based gift-giving as sentimental nonsense. A gift, he felt, ought to arise spontaneously out of a desire to give a particular thing to a particular person. Otherwise, it was a mere obligation, a trifle, a trick. The unadorned package was the clearest way to convey the simplest of all generous sentiments: _I want you to have this_.

Also, he could not help but be cognizant of the fact that, in this particular case, the ritual of gift-unwrapping would lend undue gravitas to what was, at heart, a rather crude and even self-serving sort of present. 

On the other hand, the naked box was garish enough that one couldn’t simply hand it over. So he gave it to John in the bag from the shop, with a mumbled “Happy anniversary.” John, being no more inclined than Sherlock toward unnecessary ceremony when it came to gifts, wasted no time in pulling the box out of the bag.

“Oh!” he said. The expression on his face did not have a name, but it was the one where the eyebrows go up and the corners of the mouth go down, and the head tilts to the side with a certain ironic flourish. A clownish sort of “Oh, I see!” expression.

“Oh,” John said again. “You got me a—“

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He cleared his throat.

Smiling now, John broke the tape holding the box shut and tipped the contents out into his hand. 

“Sorry about the color,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat again. 

“All perfectly healthy and normal,” John said, with a crooked smile. The silicon was a shade that they had laughingly dubbed “hygienic beige”. A black sex toy was _edgy_. A pink one was _romantic_. But beige? Aggressively neutral. Non-threatening. Suited for the satisfaction of workaday biological necessities.

Anyway. It was a sleeve-style masturbation device, a wobbly tube of opaque material with a soft, ribbed texture on the inner surface and a wider section at one end to accommodate the Alpha knot. Sherlock had never owned one, himself, since he normally found hands (his or his partner’s) to be perfectly adequate. But John would probably like it.

“It’s just,” said Sherlock, and stopped to swallow, his mouth unaccountably dry. “When we’re both Alpha. Sometimes it seems like you might want—” He waved his hand vaguely rather than complete the sentence.

“Yeah,” said John, rolling the thing between his hands. “Sometimes. Erm. Thank you. It’ll be fun to try out.” 

“Anyway,” said Sherlock, turning away from John’s bemusement. “Dinner reservation, seven o’clock. Best get ready.”

Bad luck that their anniversary had fallen on a day when they both turned out to be Omega. That silly toy wasn’t going to be much fun for anyone tonight. Perhaps that was why Sherlock felt so awkward about it. But, of course, there was more to it than that, if he were honest with himself. There was something he wanted to try with John, and he was worried that John wouldn’t enjoy it without a little extra _something_. Not much was taboo in the post-Change world, but a few things remained that could still raise eyebrows. John would be willing enough to go along with what Sherlock wanted, he thought, but Sherlock had to make sure that he enjoyed it. _Really_ enjoyed it.

They went out for dinner, and to a cozy little wine bar afterward. They had, even Sherlock had to admit, a lovely time. They ended up snuggled together in their booth at the wine bar, snogging more-or-less discreetly whenever the waiter turned his back. Being Omega together with John always made Sherlock feel sort of melty and secure and _pliant_ , and between that and the wine he found himself sinking into a warm, kiss-muddled haze. Maybe the timing wasn’t so bad after all.

At home they fell into bed promptly. John rolled Sherlock onto his back and fingered and sucked him to a trembling, gushing climax. Then Sherlock used John’s favorite plug on him, slowly stroking John’s back and murmuring endearments in his ear all the while as John writhed and gasped his way through it. Afterward, John cuddled bonelessly against him, and they slept in a sideways tangle on the bare sheet until some time in the wee hours, when they got up and used the toilet and showered and straightened out the bedclothes. In this pre-dawn waking, John was Alpha, and when they got back into bed Sherlock spooned up hard against his back so that he could squeeze and stroke him to sleepy half-hardness before they both drifted off again.

In the morning—Saturday—Sherlock was Alpha, too. This was good news, as it meant that he could carry out his plan.

They had drifted apart in their sleep. Sherlock slipped out of bed and back into the sitting room to retrieve the present from its shopping bag, and he also, quietly, got the lube out of the bottom drawer.

“What are you up to?” John said sleepily from his pillow. 

Sherlock climbed back into bed without answering and spooned up behind John again, leaving the supplies tucked up beside his pillow. 

“Surely you can make an educated guess.”

“Go on then,” said John, smiling, so Sherlock wrapped his lubed hand around John’s cock without further ado.

John drew a deep, hissing breath, his cock hardening rapidly. Sherlock gave a low hum of appreciation; even for an Alpha, John was well-endowed, though Sherlock could give him some competition in that regard. His own cock was trapped hard and leaking against John’s lower back, the thick base of the shaft nestled in the cleft of John’s buttocks. John didn’t shy away from that pressure. Sherlock ground harder against him, and John pushed back into it, giving.

So far, so ordinary (although, of course, quite pleasant). But Sherlock wanted to push things farther, this time, and therein lay the tricky bit, because, of the old taboos that had remained entrenched, perhaps the strongest was the sexual sanctity of the Alpha arse. It wasn’t made for sex, according to the prevailing sentiment. Too tight, too dry, too _dirty_ , and anyway, now that the change was here you could just wait for somebody to turn Omega if you wanted penetrative intercourse, so why bother? It was a boundary you didn’t cross, if you were normal.

Sherlock was not interested in normal.

“John,” Sherlock said, into his lover’s ear.

“Hmm?” said John, breathless.

“I’d like to—“ he faltered, groping for the right phrase. “I’d like to be inside you.”

“Huh,” said John. It was a laugh, but he had tensed a little. Sherlock stilled his hand, squeezing gently, so John could talk. “I. Can’t say I’ve never thought about it, but I.” He licked his lips. “Try a finger, maybe? And see?”

“All right,” said Sherlock. He released John’s cock to trace a slick finger back across his perineum. John tensed fractionally more, but he didn’t flinch away. “Can I?”

“Yeah.”

So Sherlock pushed inside, against some slight resistance.

“Oh!” said John, and he did pull away this time. “More lube, I think.”

So Sherlock got more lube, and tried again, and this time John didn’t pull away, but shivered a little and stayed quiet. It _was_ tight. He moved his finger a little, and John made a small, ambiguous sound.

“Is it all right?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, it’s…hmm. Sensitive. Different.” John’s hand fell to his own cock. Sherlock took this as permission to go on, and so he did, pushing and stroking and stretching while John rubbed slow circles over his glans, breathing unsteadily through his nose. Sherlock had worried that John’s prostate would be hard to find, but no, it was there, not even terribly deep inside, and it made John twitch and moan when Sherlock touched it. Surely that was a mark of success. Even if John didn’t enjoy going further, this ought to be added to their repertoire for certain. 

And he _was_ loosening up. Sherlock paused to add more lube, and when he reapplied his fingers they slid inside with a faint squishing sound that was…well. Filthy. He moaned against the back of John’s shoulder. He couldn’t help it.

“Do you want to try?” John asked. “With your cock? Maybe just…just the tip.”

“Do you want me to?”

John gulped. “Yeah.”

So Sherlock set his hand on John’s hip and drew back far enough to line himself up. He glanced down. It did look almost ludicrously unlikely, to stuff _that_ in _there_ , like cramming an aubergine into a buttonhole. But it could be done, he thought. If he were careful.

So, carefully, he pressed forward, nestling his slick-sensitive glans up against the tight ring of John’s hole. He felt John brace himself. He _pushed._

At first it seemed like they wouldn’t get anywhere, like all of his careful preparations had been undone by John’s tensing up. Sherlock took firm hold of his cock with one hand to stop it slipping out of alignment, and redoubled his efforts, and, oh, there, _that_ , it was working. It was done. Just the tip, in the hot, unrelenting constriction of the inside of shivering, gasping Alpha John.

“Okay?” Sherlock asked, a little breathless himself.

“Ngk,” said John. He was still gripping his cock, and Sherlock could tell by the way his arm moved that he was trying to shore up his flagging erection. 

“John?” Sherlock kissed his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” John said at last, on a hard exhale. “It’s weird, though. I don’t…I don’t know.”

Sherlock let go of his own shaft (which was as hard as bloody iron, thank you very much) to fumble among the pillows until he found the present, which he pressed into John’s hand.

“Try this.”

John chuckled. “And your master plan is revealed.” But he took the toy. Without waiting to be asked, Sherlock applied a well-slicked hand to John’s cock. 

“Ta,” John said, and slid the thing on with a little hiss.

“Better?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yeah,” John said. And then, again, twisting: “Yeah.”

Throughout all of this, Sherlock had of course been practicing the most monstrous self control. Now at last he could get to work stroking his own shaft, twisting his hand rapidly along the full length, from the base of his swelling knot to where it terminated at John’s body. God, but he wanted to _move_.

“Could I…could you take more?”

“I don’t know,” John said. His voice was strained. “Maybe.”

So Sherlock shoved in further, no more than an inch, but, oh, _Christ_ —

“Oh, stop, stop, no more,” John said, panting. “Oh, Sherlock, Jesus, it’s too big, just—just keep it there. No more than that.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said. “I could—I could—if you’re—“

“No, stay,” John said. “God. Just. Hngh.” And he stroked himself with the toy, thrusting into it, which put just enough friction on the head of Sherlock’s cock that he no longer felt the urge to move. He let go of himself to grip John’s hipbone so that he could brace against the short, sharp movements of John’ hips. John, who was so stretched full of Sherlock that he couldn’t take any more, _oh, Jesus, it’s too big_ , and Sherlock’s ridiculous alpha brain apparently found that very appealing.

“If I come inside you,” Sherlock said, low, “there won’t be any place for it all to go.”

“Oh,” said John, and thrust harder.

“It’ll just fill you up inside and overflow. And dribble out.”

 _”Oh,”_ , said John, and he thrust faster, and squeezed, and Sherlock lost the thread of his thought and started stroking himself again. His glans was against John’s prostate, he thought, which explained why John’s movements seemed less and less to do with the toy and more to do with impaling himself on Sherlock’s cock. 

“Talk,” John said. “More.”

“I’m sorry if it’s too much for you,” Sherlock said, making his voice rumble. John whimpered in response. “Is it really too much, John? I wouldn’t want to hurt you. It’s just that your little hole is so tight. I know I’m awfully big. But it’s not really too much, is it? You can take it, can’t you? Just for me?” 

“Mm,” said John, wanking hard, and then, “Ah! Ah, God, Sherlock!”

Sherlock was breathless now, stroking fast and squeezing and squeezing his knot.

“I could knot you like this,” Sherlock said. “Would that be too much? I think you’d like it. Imagine if I speared you like a hungry little Omega slut, hmm? I could shove you open and come in your belly. Leave you wide open and dripping when I pull my cock out.”

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” John cried, and then he moaned hard, and his muscles clamped around Sherlock’s cock as he started to come. The urge to thrust hard into him was so strong that Sherlock had to physically stop himself by gripping up around the neck of his cock, and so he felt against his fingers the way that John’s stretched entrance hardened and strained around his shaft, and it was that, more than anything, that took him over the edge, a sudden lightning building in his knot until he spilled over, throbbing richly, his seed pumping out into John’s tight, sterile orifice. And he’d been right: it did dribble out, very messily.

“Jesus,” John moaned, finally. “Oh, god, don’t move.”

So Sherlock kept still while John reached back a somewhat shaky hand to feel the place where Sherlock’s shaft was still impaling him. John’s fingers slipped in the slick mess.

“Jesus,” he said again. Sherlock did move, then, wanting to withdraw, and John gripped his shaft, helping. 

John turned over immediately, so that he was lying on his other side facing Sherlock. He was still breathing hard, his eyes full of some unreadable expression as they searched Sherlock’s face.

Then John was on him, kissing him, hard and hungry. He pushed Sherlock over onto his back and climbed on top of him, heedless of their mess. He grabbed a double handful of hair to hold Sherlock’s head down and kissed him with bruising force, mouth wide open, teeth striking teeth and tongue delving. Sherlock writhed under the onslaught, breathless, and when John had finished with his mouth he moved down to suck brutally at Sherlock’s neck, raising a bruise in seconds. Sherlock hissed and kicked his feet to stop himself pushing John away. It hurt, but it felt _right_.

John released him at last with a smack and buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s shoulder, still lying on top of him. “Fucking hell,” he said, still breathless. “Christ, Sherlock, that was wild, you’ve no idea.” 

“No?” said Sherlock.

John turned to look at the mark he’d made on Sherlock’s neck and hissed in sympathy, reaching up to stroke it gently with one finger.

“Damn, sorry about this,” he said. 

“It’s nothing,” said Sherlock. “Are you all right? Was that—was it okay?”

“Well, it was a cracking orgasm,” John said. “Five out of five. But, Christ, I’m still not—I’m not calm. Adrenaline. Like we’ve been fighting.”

While John was talking, something in Sherlock’s chest twisted into an anxious little knot. 

“So?” he said.

“So, it was okay,” John said, pressing his face to Sherlock’s chest. “It was just crazy. I didn’t even know I could feel like that.” 

“Oh,” Sherlock said. 

Then John’s arms wrapped down around him, tucking between Sherlock’s body and the mattress. He was still tense and shivering. Sherlock returned the embrace, pulling John’s naked weight down more heavily on top of himself. 

“We don’t have to do it again,” Sherlock said. 

“It’s not even that,” said John. “I…liked it. I can imagine wanting it sometimes. I just didn’t know what to expect. I dunno. I need to think about it for a while.”

Sherlock decided to take the hint that John was finished talking (and anyhow, he had no idea what to say). The full body contact seemed to calm John down, and gradually his muscles went slack and his breathing evened out. At some point he slid off sideways to nestle under Sherlock’s arm. They fell asleep that way. 

Sherlock woke up mid-morning, still Alpha, to the sound of John taking a shower. He rolled over and hunkered down in the bed, feeling wretched. It wasn’t that he set much store by the notion of anniversaries (the length of a year was, after all, arbitrary), but it didn’t do to mess them up, either. They’d been having rather a good time until Sherlock decided to give free reign to his proclivities, and now he’d gone and pressed John too far.

John finished in the shower and turned off the water, then came back into the bedroom. Sherlock tried to project an air of “sleeping” rather than “sulking”. No way to be sure whether John was fooled, but his footsteps drew closer to the bed, and then he got under the covers again and spooned up against Sherlock’s back. Apparently he didn’t care that Sherlock hadn’t washed yet. Sherlock gave up his charade to hug John’s arms against his chest, and John nuzzled the back of his neck with a tickle of warm breath.

“This has been the best year of my life,” John said.

“Mine, too,” said Sherlock, and knew it was true.

“I love you,” John said. And that, also, was true. And so Sherlock was content, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you have no idea how to tag your kinks. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
